Women of the Grey- The Complete Trilogy

by Carol James Marshall

  A smile crossed Ally’s face as she thought about her life in The Grey. She was lucky, Ally worked in the garden, growing the food for The Grey. The Women of the Grey ate only fruit and vegetables. Nothing cooked, all raw, all the time. Ally had always wondered why but wouldn’t ask. She knew better than to ask.

  Asking anything in The Grey was tricky. You could ask a simple question and never receive an adequate answer. That simple question could be twisted into knots and then asked again to someone else with your name attached. One simple question could turn into an ugly troublemaking rumor.

  Once— only once — had Ally had questioned an elderly mother on the garden rules. Two days later she found herself face to face with Superior Mother.

  “Tell me, Ally…” Superior Mother inched closer to Ally by a couple steps. Ally squeezed the edge of a table with her hands. She was beginning to shiver. The temperature in the room had dropped enough that Ally could see her breath.

  Giving a casual hand wave, Superior Mother regarded Ally kindly, but she knew better “I’ve been informed that you disagree with our choice of crops?” She paused, giving Ally a moment to taste the panic that was rising in her throat. “You think we could do…” Pausing again, she squinted her eyes at Ally, as if what she was about to say was painful, “…better?”

  Ally’s thoughts raced then. What she’d said and who she’d spoken to zoomed through her mind. Whose mouth brought her here?

  “Superior Mother, I never said such things.”

  “But you asked why we didn’t grow wheat? Did you not?” Superior Mother took another step forward. She was so close that Ally could feel a tingle of ice floating towards her.

  Ally willed herself not to vomit. She had spent her life avoiding their leader, having heard the same stories as everyone else. She didn’t want the punishments that came from challenging the mothers.

  “I thought we could have bread.” Ally hung her head low, filled with the shame of being so dumb as to believe something as simple as bread would be easy in The Grey. Superior Mother ran an icy finger over Ally’s hand. The cold burned Ally to the point of tears. Superior Mother whispered, “it’s better you leave thought to the big girls.”

  Ally shook her head. Damn it. She had done it again. Stopped to think of those ugly moments. It was better to leave them behind. Enjoy her dress. Enjoy the smell of roses on her skin. Ally smiled. She had heard of a restaurant where you could literally eat flowers. That is where she would go to next.

  Of course, Ally was ignoring her mission today. That was a worry. She needed to prove herself worthy of missions. If she did that, then maybe Superior Mother would let her out more often. It couldn’t hurt to ignore it just for today. Today, she’d enjoy herself. Tomorrow it would be back to work.

  Sliding on her boots, Ally grabbed her purse and walked into the living room of her apartment, stopping short at the sight of a thin, long-haired woman that looked just like her. Looking behind her, Ally didn’t know which direction to go to. Should she rush into the woman? Fight her way outside. If she did that, would her neighbors come out and wonder why she suddenly had a twin?

  “Are you Lisa?” It had to be her. Ally had heard the rumors of Lisa while she was still in The Grey. Lisa was a legend now. Some thought her dead, but Ally knew better.

  Putting her hands up with a quick smile, the woman nodded. “That’s me… have a seat, sweetpea.” Lisa gestured at the couch, then gave a quick snap of her fingers so that Ally focused her eyes on her “And keep quiet. One eeny meeny scream will get you throat punched.”

  Sitting, Ally glanced down at the flowers on her dress. Flowers was the one thing Superior Mother turned a blind eye to in The Grey gardens. Flowers are what kept Ally from shoving a fork in her throat when she yet again sat to eat a meal surrounded by enemies pretending to be sisters.

  She wished she was holding a real flower now. She could feel its petals, inhale its scent, and find tranquility in what Ally assumed would now be her end.

  “I never got to taste the flowers.” Ally pushed her lips together and looked at Lisa in the eye. What she said caused Lisa to scratch her head and shrug.

  “What?” Lisa sat on the coffee table in front of Ally. “What flowers?”

  There were noises coming from Ally’s kitchen. Was there someone in her kitchen? Someone that Lisa was hiding?

  “Who’s in my kitchen?” Ally felt a tremble in her voice. Lisa looked towards the kitchen and shrugged again.

  Exhaling, Lisa put a hand on Ally’s knee. Instantly there was a cold on her that Ally thought could break her knee cap. It was the same cold that came from Superior Mother, but Ally was too panicky to say that thought out loud.

  “Now darling, let’s forget the flowers or the eating of the flowers. I have more important things to discuss with you.”

  Lisa let go of her knee and the piercing cold faded, but not quickly enough for Ally.

  “I’m going to give you something our wonderful leader Superior Mother wouldn’t.”

  Lisa smiled at Ally and said, “A choice.”

  Israel came out of the kitchen in time to see Lisa drag Ally’s body into a corner. He shook his head and went back into the kitchen.

  Teresa

  Flicking one of tubes that connected her to the bubble, Teresa watched it recoil, give her a hiss, and attach itself to her arm again. She shouldn’t flick the tubes. Teresa suspected that they felt pain and the flick only caused them to dig their tiny teeth deeper into her.

  In the past such a thing would have caused Teresa to recoil and flinch, but not anymore. Life in the bowels of The Grey was nothing but grief. A vertical plunge into the very essence of not just discomfort, but pain in its rawest form.

  Daily — sometimes it felt like hourly — an Original would come to Teresa and tell her to sleep. When she’d wake, she was cut again, opened again, dissected and prodded again. Afterward, she was shoved back to the bubble. Back to the hissing wormlike tubes that Teresa figured kept her alive while also slowly causing her death.

  These Women of the Grey weren’t mothers. They went about their days in original form. These Women of the Grey were a slippery-looking silver that from afar looked like shark skin. Their expressions were somber and hateful. All had eyes that nearly wrapped almost all the way around their heads. They kept silent, never bothering to speak except when they whispered “sleep” to Teresa.

  Teresa hated that word more than she hated anything. “Sleep” meant that they would take her to the table. “Sleep” meant the ugly was about to happen. The word “sleep” triggered apprehension in Teresa that danced with terror.

  Memories of what they did to her on the table were vague images of knives followed by pain. When Teresa woke, all she had was a hazy recollection of slices on her skin and the feel of the stainless-steel table. Pain she could swallow, but the disrespect they had for their own kind always stuck in Teresa’s throat. When the Women of the Grey carelessly plopped Teresa’s naked body on the cold table, that moment was worse than the next, when they told her again to sleep. Teresa knew what they did to her while she slept. Her eyes would close and she’d fall asleep knowing that while on that table they’d cut her open to once again pry at her insides.

  Insides that were the same as theirs, but not. She was the first of the Women to be unable to breed. To not follow orders was one thing, but to follow through and fail was another. She was different.

  Teresa wondered whether these women from her home planet were trying to help her. Were all the scars Teresa now had signs that these women — beings — in the original form of the Women of the Grey trying to help her? Were they fixing her like a car engine? Would they slap some duct tape on her, then put her back to work?

  Sometimes Teresa wondered if she would ever see the sun again or sniff the early morning air. If they could fix her, would they let her go? Questions bounced around in Teresa’s head, but there are no answers.

  There are never any answers in The Grey. There was only the
flop of her body on a stainless-steel table, her dignity stolen and her pride erased. Teresa was in charge of nothing in her life now. She was nothing but meat on the table to be cut up and then discussed.

  Hours of painful humiliation as nothing more than a test subject had schooled Teresa, teaching her valuable lessons. She had learned that she was never in charge of her life. Freedom was never hers. When Teresa was out among the humans, she was on a very long leash.

  In the small seconds Teresa was awake while on the table, she told her mind to bring the cold. Maybe she could freeze herself to the table. That might grant her some time to lie still in her pain. Life was nothing but pain now. For Teresa a different type of pain was almost a comfort. But her cold never came in the seconds she was alert enough to notice.

  Sometimes when Teresa woke, she would shove her fingertips into the stainless-steel table. There was no purpose to this other than distraction. First pinkie, then ring, then the others. Each fingertip was shaky with exertion as she tried her best to shove them through the metal. It was her game, hoping a fingertip could make it through. If that happened, maybe she’d be strong enough to fight back.

  A finger never went through.

  After the table, Teresa was put back in the bubble with its hissing tubes. Life was an endless cycle of sleep, table, slice, inspect, and return to the bubble, where tubes would pounce on Teresa, hungry for yet another nibble of what was left of her.

  Every minute was like the last one. Every second no different from the other. Teresa felt no sense of what day, month, or hour it was. What was time anymore for her? If there was no way for her to tell time, then time was nothing but a rumor.

  June

  Sitting in the park at night was a freeing experience for June, listening to the wind whip the leaves off the trees and the patter of critter feet scurrying about was the closest she’d ever come to experiencing wonder. Squirrels are June’s favorite of the critters. The squirrels reminded her of the Women in The Grey, running from tree to tree, trying their best to keep up with the demands of their existence.

  Sniffing the air, June wanted her bed back in The Grey, but there was work to be done. The demand for Red in The Grey grew louder every day. At first it was only a murmur of want. Now it thundered in June’s ears in a violent roar, a thunder of demand for the product that June herself had created. She had built this monster, and now it was her job to keep the cogs of it turning. She’d never tame the demand for Red. It was her baby and she was proud of it.

  After all, supplying the Women in The Grey with Red kept June sane. If she did not supply it, her life in The Grey would be nothing but noise. June did not have high tolerance for the chatter of the mothers ringing in her ears.

  Red kept the Women of the Grey contently sedated. They functioned within the jail that was their home with a lazy smile on their faces. Red allowed them acceptance of their situation and provided a tranquility not found otherwise in the countless hallways, rooms, and living quarters of The Grey.

  Getting up from the bench, June stretched her arms out in front of her. She then bent her wrists in another quick stretch. June wanted to make quick work of harvesting Red. The wind was picking up now and driving the clouds away. A bright night was not good for June, who depended on the dark of night to cloak her deeds.

  Walking down the city streets, June waited for that one human. She had noticed long ago that there is always at least one human out late into the night on almost every street. One human out wandering, not minding where it stands or who goes by. Letting out a small giggle, June sighed and shook her head. The humans were easy prey; they were always looking at their cell phones and not at their surroundings. It made her work easy.

  Looking around, June sought her mark. A target to sweep down on when it least expected it, like a vampire in the black and white movies. She thought nothing of the look of terror on their faces. Or the gasp that escaped the human as she took charge. To June humans were disposable, nothing but a commodity in her hustle.

  Many mothers regarded humans differently. The Women of The Grey that had spent time out in the world whispered to the others of what the human world held. Tales of things like gum, children who played in parks, men that would laugh, grab you, and kiss your neck all fascinated the ones who had never seen the sun.

  June didn’t care for the moments these women had with humans. On missions, she didn’t feel the connection that other mothers did. She found her marks and disposed of them. She had her daughter for The Grey, handed her in, and did her best to never think of her again.

  The human world held no interest for June. She never could understand what the allure was for some of the others. She found humans to be nothing but gassy, loud, self-important meat bags.

  There was one thing that June did crave from humans. She wanted not them, but their world. An open space to live as they wish. That June found enthralling. The freedom humans had was her greatest desire.

  The problem was how to get there. What was the solution to living among the humans? The answer came quickly for June. The answer was simple and felt like it bashed her head in when the conclusion popped up. Money, that was the answer to her freedom, if only she knew how to get it.

  June spent weeks looking at every nook in The Grey for an answer. She needed money. A day came when everything changed. June found a mother that did not care. A mother who slept afternoons away. A mother that never chattered. June wanted this mother’s secrets. How was she content while the others felt the walls caving in?

  June knew this mother kept something special locked away. She sensed it. June could almost sniff “secret” on her. June had noticed what nobody else had, and went about spying on this mother. Befriending this mother didn’t work. Sneaking into her room and going through her belongings didn’t work.

  June finally found her answer on the day this mother slept so soundly and deeply that she didn’t stir when June casually walked into her room. June nervously touched her foot, but she did not move. The mother breathed deeply and slept profoundly.

  June knew she had time to investigate. Shaking her head at the sleeping beauty, June went about prying into this mother’s business. After every inch of her closet had been searched and every drawer, bag, and hidden pocket had been emptied, June felt like smashing her head in, until she noticed the mother’s wrist.

  There was a fresh smudge of muddy red color on the mother’s wrist. Putting her nose up to the smudge June smelled it, and then set the wrist gently back down. Sitting on the edge of the mother’s bed, June’s thoughts raced. She had instantly known what it was, but still she second-guessed herself. It couldn’t be human blood?

  Why would the mother smear it on her? June left the mother’s room then and quickly went back to her own. She laid on her bed, feeling comfort in being alone. The comfort was small, but it took the prickle from her skin and quieted her mind. Closing her eyes, June allowed herself to open up, breathe deeply, and let go. She wanted her thoughts to flow freely, to dance around and come up with a conclusion.

  Did the blood, if in fact human, cause the Women of The Grey to simply not care, to lounge around like a spoiled house cat? If this was the case, then she would find out where they got it. Get rid of that source and supply it, plenty of it, herself. June would have the Women of the Grey swim in it, if that meant she could gather enough money to disappear.

  A drunk man stumbling to his car ripped June from her thoughts. Staggering near his car, he reaching for the car keys he had dropped on the street. June smiled. She had found her wanderer.

  Teresa

  The bubble Teresa was kept in wasn’t a plastic cell. It wasn’t a machine full of tubes. It was alive. The bubble had emotion. The bubble sensed pain, not only its own, but Teresa’s. Teresa was ashamed of how long it had taken her to hear Unit speak to her. Riding the wave of her own sense of abandonment and despair, Teresa didn’t hear her friend speaking for much too long.

  Actually, there was no real speaking. Communicati
on with Unit was like hearing a whisper in a crowd. Teresa had to tune in, pay attention, and step outside herself. Talking to Unit was like turning radio dials in the hope of hearing something besides static.

  Unit spoke in message trails, a long path of thoughts that trickled into Teresa. She didn’t hear them until she had given up all hope. Teresa had to bow to accept the pain as always there. The pain was constant, and in it there was a faint trail of thoughts that Teresa recognized as not her own. Once Teresa noticed Unit’s thoughts and understood them, she could never turn them off again, nor would she want to. Uni, as Teresa called him or her, was her only ally and friend.

  The bubble is called Unit by the mothers. It’s been called Unit for so long that it has forgotten its actual name. Uni’s memory of its own birth was gone. It had only faint images left of its home planet, a place where Uni believed its kind lived in tranquility, surrounded by beauty.

  Teresa had long forgotten the word beautiful, and when she asked Uni to describe the beauty of the planet, it couldn’t. Uni didn’t remember what beauty looked like. It remembered only what the sense of beauty and being in beautiful surroundings felt like. Uni said it had felt calm, a calm so profound that it cushioned any fall.

  Teresa envied that. She had no sense of what beautiful actually meant anymore. The Grey was a sanitary place, full of clean lines and scrubbed floors. Teresa didn’t believe beauty could be labeled and polished. She sensed that beauty was sloppy, sometimes crooked, or almost silly. Beauty would feel crunchy and smell of lavender.

  When Teresa learned to hear Uni and respond, they slowly became one, sharing each other’s grief and slightest thoughts. Teresa was now an extension of Uni and it an extension of her. It was the closest Teresa had ever been to having a parent or a sibling.